


in hunger and in thirst

by KelpietheThundergod



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Dean-Centric, M/M, Maternal!Dean, Post-Episode: s15e01 Back and to the Future, Trauma, basically exploration of dean's headspace, episode coda, michael!dean mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-12-20 16:08:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21059453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KelpietheThundergod/pseuds/KelpietheThundergod
Summary: “We got work to do.”Sam slams the trunk shut, his jaw set. And Dean agrees, but—“Okay, good, but first things first.” Dean stabs a finger in Sam’s face, channels his sternest mom voice. “You’re gonna sit your ass down, and you’re gonna eat something.”Sam rolls his eyes.“Dean—”, and it’s almost a whine, like when he was little and Dean decided it was bedtime.





	in hunger and in thirst

_ _

_ because you did not serve the _ _ Lord _ _ your God with joyfulness and gladness of heart, because of the abundance of all things, therefore you shall serve your enemies whom the _ _ Lord _ _ will send against you, _

_ in hunger and thirst, in nakedness, and lacking everything _

_ and he will put a yoke of iron on your neck until he has destroyed you _

  
  


“We got work to do.”

Sam slams the trunk shut, his jaw set. And Dean agrees, but—

“Okay, good, but first things first.” Dean stabs a finger in Sam’s face, channels his sternest mom voice. “You’re gonna sit your ass down, and you’re gonna eat something.”

Sam rolls his eyes.

“Dean—”, and it’s almost a whine, like when he was little and Dean decided it was bedtime.

“Nope. You just got shot with a magic gun and fought a bunch of ghosts, you gotta keep your strength up.”

Sam gripes about Dean’s mother-henning, but he does let Dean maneuver him to sit in the backseat with his freakishly long legs outside the car and both feet on the concrete.

Dean ignores the griping and climbs into the car to forage. He could have sworn he’d seen a —his fumbling fingers bump against something that crinkles, something that’s soft inside.

“Yathzee.”

The protein bar is peanut flavored. Dean makes a face. Could be worse.

He grabs a water bottle from the front and shoves his spoils in Sammy’s hands.

“Hey, maybe I could grab you a banana somewhere. You could put it on top,” he mimes stacking a sandwich, “pretend the protein is uh, bread—”

Sam holds up a hand.

“Dude, stop, I’m gonna puke.”

He does look mildly disgusted, but he’s also smiling, a little. Like it’s reassuring that despite everything that’s wrong, Dean’s still, well. A little disgusting, a little ridiculous. _ Dean _ .

The wrapper crinkles when Sam rips it open. Inside, the protein bar is a little squashed, like maybe someone—Dean—almost sat on it at some point, and then carelessly chucked it into the back.

“I like bananas,” Belphegor chimes in where he’s squatting on Baby’s hood. He holds Dean’s gaze. “I mean the shape is kinda nice, the heft.” He licks his lips and grins. “The taste, when—”

Dean rolls his eyes and tunes him out.

Sam doesn’t seem to even have noticed the exchange, scrolling through stuff on his phone, half-eaten protein bar forgotten in his hand. Dean kicks his foot.

“Eat up, gigantor.”

Dean turns away, does a quick perimeter check. The civilians are staying where they’re supposed to. Belphegor appears to be watching a pair of butterflies.

Cas has sat down on a bench a couple feet away. It's facing the school's empty sports field.

Dean stares at his back. The ache in his chest that he’d pushed down starts spreading again, and words try to escape past his tightly clenched jaw. He grits his teeth. Swallows it all down, all of it. Then he opens the driver’s side door and sits. Feet on the concrete.

He can’t even see Cas from here, and that’s better for everyone involved.

As usual in situations like these, Dean focuses on what he _ can _ do. He can fuss over Sam, and he can do his damn job, and he can keep his emotions in check.

He can check over his gun and he can reload the shotguns with salt rounds.

_ rats in a maze _

_ even the Cage _

_ and Michael? _

_ and Michael? _

Panic rises, followed by a surge of adrenaline. His fingers want to shake. Violently, he jams in the salt round, cocks the gun. His hands are steady. He’s cool. He’s good.

“You really think he’s gone?”

Sam looks up from his phone and then at Dean, a little confused.

“What, Chuck? Yeah, I mean, why wouldn’t he be? He’s pissed, he said he’s done.”

Sam shrugs. Dean takes a breath.

He does _ not _ think about a door left open a crack, about walk-in freezers. About not getting air. Or about the time before that, when he’d found out they’d been played and manipulated left and right— _ You are chosen. You will stop it. Just... not Lilith, or the apocalypse, that’s all. _

Sam frowns.

“You okay?”

Dean lets himself scowl. He doesn’t look at Sam, rubs a thick thumb over the wood of the shotgun in his lap, over the scratched metal. It’s warm, a little, from his body heat.

“Yeah, just—angry. Fucking asshole.”

“Yeah.” Sam sounds more thoughtful than pissed though, at least right now. Dean looks up. In Sam's hand, melting—

“Dude”, Dean gripes, “don’t waste food.”

Sam gives him a bitch face, but finally stuffs the last of his peanut protein in his mouth.

Dean reaches over and throws a paper towel at him.

“Don’t touch Baby with your dirty paws.”

>

_ "So, why?"  
_

_ "Huh?"  
_

_ "Why this bar?"  
_

_ Dean smiles. "Told you—this is my dream." _

_ Pamela grins at him, her knowing eyes glinting in the low light. It's still pissing rain outside, like Dean can't even remember the last time he didn't hear it drumming on the roof.  
_

_ That’s a little weird. His memory usually isn’t that bad. He’s not old, he’s forty-two. Doesn’t even have gray hairs yet, that’s Sam. Boy, was he pissed. Dean’d laughed himself silly. Still does, every time Sam finds a new one and pretends he hasn't.  
_

_ "Yeah, well. Haven't you spent half your life in places like this? Low on class—,"  
_

_ "Hey now—"  
_

_ "High in," she lifts her shot glass, and one eyebrow, "you know." _

_ Dean glowers at her and she laughs, "Just kidding, grumpy." _

_ "Rocky's is a _ dream _ ," Dean lectures, pointing a finger at her. "And you know it. It's _ awesome _ ." He picks up his own shot glass and downs it, hissing at the burn. This was how many? He's not sure, but he feels fine. Little fuzzy at the edges, maybe. Nothing he can't handle.  
_

_ Pamela holds up her hands, her jewelry chiming." Alright," she drawls. "But c'mon, seriously now. Why this?"  
_

_ Her sober, curious tone gets Dean's attention. He shrugs, a little uncomfortable sharing something that private, even with her. "Guess this is the first time I've had something that's just mine, yknow? _ My _ decision. _ I _ picked the spot, the," he waves a hand vaguely, "the everything. Kinda nice. Kinda… freeing." _

_ Pamela smiles at him. "Yeah," she says, low and amused. A little like she knows something he doesn't. So, the usual. "So—more shots?"  
_

>

Dean's been on a lot of awkward car rides, but the ride back to the bunker with Belphegor in the backseat has got to be one of the awkwardest. One of the tensest too.

Belphegor kept looking at Dean, or at least Dean felt like he did, and when he wasn’t looking at Dean he was looking from him to Cas and back. Except, Sam didn't seem to notice at all, so maybe it was all in Dean's head. _ Is _ in his head.

Because it's not just Belphegor Dean feels watched by. God is a perverse—_ sadistic _ —voyeur, and Sam might think he's gone, but for all they know he could still be getting his peep on.

The bunker—their _ home _ —doesn't feel safe, and it's pissing Dean off.

Dean's in the shower room, and his skin is crawling because maybe God is watching him strip naked right now, is watching the suds glide over his skin, watching his fingers in his hair.

It might be irrational, but that doesn't keep the slimy feeling of absolute exposure at bay. It's almost like how he'd felt after Michael—dolled-up and bad-touched and objectified. Humiliated to his bones.

He makes sure to face the wall the entire time he bathes, and when he reaches for the towel he holds a hand over his crotch. The strap of his robe is pulled tight around his waist, and he checks his perimeter, scowling at the sweating tiles, at the humid air.

The mirrors are fogged up and the shape of him in them is a blur, a flesh-colored smudge.

>

Dean’s mood doesn’t lift one bit when he enters the kitchen. They’re out of almost everything. He’s going to have to make a haul.

He writes a shopping list. It’s pitiful. Beer, bread, beer, milk. Coffee. Cheese.

Dean has two less people to feed now.

Sometimes, when whatever is between him and Cas is wrecked with anger and guilt, Dean wishes Cas could eat. It’s Dean’s go-to olive branch when he and Sammy fight; offering a beer or a slice of pizza. Not that Dean wants to offer olive branches yet, he’s still too angry. But feeding people is also his go-to when he wants to take care of them from a distance, when he’s still processing and not ready to talk.

After a final glare at the moldy take-out that Dean’s been unable to throw out, he slams the fridge door shut. Rubs at his neck, at the tension there.

Sammy’s deep in business mode, almost constantly on the phone. Cas is somewhere. Belphegor is… somewhere.

A wave of exhaustion wants Dean to curl up in bed and keep the world out, but he doesn’t have time for that. Their to-do list is longer than both of Sammy’s arms combined. Dean looks at his shopping list only to realize he’s all but crumbled it in his fist.

In a fit of angry despair, he almost chucks it at the wall. But then he’d have to go and pick it back up—to keep, or to throw in the bin.

He stuffs it in his pants pocket and leaves the kitchen for the garage. The tension spreads across his shoulders and blooms an empty feeling in his chest, like he just went through five rounds of shadow-boxing and lost every single one.

>

_ Sammy’s playing with a couple of Dean’s old toy cars in the corner. Where the carpet is thinnest, so they go faster.  
_

_ Dean has a shotgun in his lap, big and heavy. Outside, the wind howls. They’ve been in this room for three days. Sammy keeps fearing the tree outside will smash the window glass while they are sleeping. He says he’s a big boy, but at night, he sleeps curled up next to Dean, and Dean sleeps curled up to the gun.  
_

_ “ _ God provides _ ,” a pale, bearded man says on TV, while kitschy music plays in the background. Dean thinks about changing the channel, but it’s all trash right now. Also, Sammy’s going to be hungry soon. They’re out of tuna and they’re out of marshmallows, so it’s going to have to be mac and cheese with ketchup today.  
_

_ He doesn’t really look forward to eating it but cooking it is kind of nice. He has to push a chair in front of the stove to reach it, but then he can warm his hands there.  
_

_ “ _ God giveth _ ,” the man drones on, “ _ and God ta _ —”. Dean leans over to reach the remote and hits the button. Another pale, bearded man baby talks his cat in a cat food commercial.  
_

_ The shotgun shifts in his lap with the movement, and Dean grabs it hastily before it can clatter to the floor, his heart pounding, the cool wood almost slipping through his clammy fingers, his too small hands. _

  


**Author's Note:**

> quote at the beginning: Deuteronomy 28:47-48, English Standard Version
> 
> it feels like forever since i've posted anything - i spent most of the summer rewatching all 14 seasons of spn, and whenever i wasn't busy with that, i was working on a longfic (a sequel to a certain other longfic ;) )
> 
> wasn't the premiere amazing??!!! i'm so excited but also so not ready to let spn go ;a;
> 
> i wasn't patient enough to have this beta read before posting, so if you find mistakes (grammar, typo, etc) feel free to tell me :)
> 
> please leave me a comment if you liked this and [reblog the fic on tumblr](https://cuddlemonsterdean.tumblr.com/post/188392102711/in-hunger-and-in-thirst-dean-centric-post) !!!! i cherish every comment i get, and they make me write more :)


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